Dress Up
by fascinationex
Summary: Ino vs Sakura's insecurities vs Sakura's thighs. [Short fluffy one shot. Ino/Sakura.]


I was chatting with user misfit mccoward and lamenting the lack of obviously buff girls in Naruto. She mentioned Sakura getting Buff™ and feeling insecure and i took it as a prompt. now here we are.

This is speed written! Unedited! And probably other frightening things. Anyway this is M-rated but I think within ffnet's terms of use .

* * *

They are supposed to be going out this evening. Ino is still in her uniform - she got home later - and now she's watching Sakura, compelled by the spectacle of her trying to get dressed.

"My thighs look huge," Sakura complains, turning awkwardly in the mirror to peer at them, waving vaguely at Ino in the reflection. "You can't see it in my uniform, but when I get dressed up-"

She gestures wordlessly, as though perhaps Ino can't see the thighs.

Ino, from her spectator's seat on their bed, tilts her head.

Ino can see the thighs.

They're mostly hidden by Sakura's dress - red, again, even though Ino keeps trying to get her to wear colours that actually go with her hair - which falls to mid-thigh. She can see where the swell of muscle dips in toward her knees.

Sakura started packing muscle on a lot faster once she stopped growing vertically.

It isn't, hmm, traditionally part of the kunoichi ideal. Kunoichi are meant to look like civilian women, for the most part. They're meant to _look_ soft and _be_ tough.

But the thighs...

Ino likes the thighs. She likes the hard ropy muscle and the way they feel under her fingers when she has to grab them hard to keep them still.

"Really?" she says. Sakura is wearing heels - not the low, purpose-made blocky one-and-a-half inch ones she and most kunoichi wear at work, but actual heels: three inches, pushing her hips out and arching her back and throwing all the muscles in her calves into appealing relief. They might be stupid for combat, but Ino still understands why they're so popular.

"I don't know." She rubs her thumb over her lower lip. She takes the invitation to look even closer and, smiling, says: "Maybe if your dress was a little shorter, it'd throw off the line, make it less obvious. Pull it up a few inches -"

Sakura does, and Ino tilts her head more. She can see the heavy curve of muscle in Sakura's quads. It's not, Ino thinks, the catastrophe that Sakura is worried about.

Sakura shifts on her feet, nervous or impatient, and the muscle shifts and clenches.

"Yes," says Ino slowly. "I see the problem." She swallows. Uncrosses and crosses her own legs, and fights the urge to squirm. "I think it's better shorter," she tells her, dragging her eyes back up to Sakura's face.

Sakura gives her a very dubious look. "Maybe I should go on a diet," she says instead, dropping the hem of her dress, obscuring the soft smooth skin with mysterious, inviting shadows. In some ways, that's even worse. Ino lets her eyes settle there. She feels - warm, low in her belly, in the cradle of her hips.

"Maybe," Ino suggests, getting up and heading closer, watching Sakura watch her approach in the mirror, "maybe you should let me have a look."

"Ino," hisses Sakura, flushing across her nose - it clashes with her hair, it always does. "Don't be-"

Sakura stops whatever she's saying when Ino takes hold of her hips from behind, gently, so gently, so her hands are felt only feather-light through the fabric. The curve of Sakura's hips is inviting and the muscles of her thighs are firm and lovely under Ino's hands, easily felt right through the thin fabric of the dress. She is warm.

Ino breathes out a tiny little noise. They both watch her hands follow the lines of Sakura's hips and thighs in the mirror.

In the sudden silence she glides her hands down, down, feeling all the way as she drops gracefully to her knees.

She drags her nails softly down Sakura's leg, all the way to her ankle, and then runs her fingers back up - up and under the skirt. The contrast of steely muscle and impossibly soft skin is a good one.

"Ino," murmurs Sakura, watching her in the mirror. Somehow it sounds less like a protest, but her face is even redder.

Ino tugs the dress out of the way and leans her face against the back of Sakura's thigh. She kisses. Sakura makes a noise in her throat and shifts her legs further apart without thinking.

Her eyes seem magnetised to the view in the mirror, which is exactly what Ino wants.

"They're good," she tells her, and kisses the back of her knee. She knows Sakura is sensitive here, so she licks, too, and lets her teeth scrape softly.

Sometimes Ino likes to put on a show. She's vain. She likes the attention. But she doesn't really have to force any part of the breathy purr in her voice right now.

"Ne, Sakura..." she says in a tone she's long since perfected, all soft and syrupy and inviting.

She can feel it against her mouth when Sakura shudders.

"We're going to be late," she predicts.

"We are. And you started it," says Ino, tugging her so she turns, so Ino's thigh is between her ankles and she can look straight up into Sakura's face without the mirror. She raises her voice so it's high and mocking: " 'Please, Ino-sama, look at my smooth, perfect thighs. I could crush your skull between them. Aren't they just _hideous_?' "

She sounds absolutely nothing like Sakura, and she can see a vein tick irritably in Sakura's temple.

She laughs, and catches Sakura's eyes. She knows what she looks like, on her knees, looking up, long blonde hair spilling down around her shoulders. Ino, after all, does not have any insecurities about her _own_ looks.

Funny, but even though she's annoyed, Sakura's breath is a little unsteady.

Ino licks her lips so they shine in the light, and Sakura's attention follows naturally.

She smiles. She's already won. "Get on the bed," she tells her, because Sakura will never be able to balance in those shoes, and Sakura complies mechanically, no silly extraneous thoughts required.

Ino hooks Sakura's knees over her shouders - honestly, it's like this girl needs a _map_ sometimes - and clutches the steely muscle of her thigh in one hand and presses her mouth to the soft cotton crotch of her underpants. She breathes, hot and wet, and listens to Sakura squeak.

Her thighs relax and tense, clenching against Ino's head, against the smooth slide of her hair.

She breathes - her breath comes hard, like she's been training, her blood pumping furiously. She waits until Sakura gives a hesitant squeeze of one of her legs, like a shy wordless encouragement.

She still doesn't say anything.

Ino laughs aloud. "Sakura, you're too cute," she says, and obligingly she takes the thin elastic edge of her panties in her teeth to tug it away.

By the time they are done Sakura is boneless on the sheets, sprawled out, panting and sybaritic. Her eyes are heavy lidded with bliss.

Ino is throbbing, but they are in fact very late.

Not ten minutes late, or fifteen or twenty. They are an hour and forty minutes late.

"...They still look huge," Sakura mumbles. She lifts one leg. Her shoe is half undone. The ankle strap is loose but it is clinging to her toes.

Ino glances down along her leg, examining the view.

Despite her complaining, Sakura seems to be having a hard time working up the same degree of concern as earlier.

Good. Ino would hate for all her hard work to go to waste.

Ino sits up properly. She wipes the mess off her bottom lip with her fingers then licks them clean. "Your thighs are fine."

Then she can't help herself, so she adds: "Nobody's looking at how big your thighs are when your forehead's right there, anyway."

The effect is immediate, in that Sakura twitches and punches Ino, but her muscles are all weak and her chakra control is shot, so her fist strikes Ino's arm with all the strength of a kitten's paw.

Damn, she's good. She looks down the relaxed line of Sakura's body and wonders if she can convince her to stay home instead.


End file.
